Spirit of Chaos
by Eden Haem
Summary: The day he died was the day he began to live. Harry Potter becomes the Spirit of the Chaos after he dies at his uncle's hand…but no one knows. After all, hundreds of people believe in The-Boy-Who-Lived.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi everybody! My names Eden and I would like to welcome you to my first crossover Fanfic.  
Please review, I'd love to hear your opinions.

I hope you like it!

Summary: The day he died was the day he began to live. Harry Potter becomes the Spirit of the Chaos after he dies at his uncle's hand…but no one knows. After all hundreds of people believe in The-Boy-Who-Lived.

'_Thoughts'_

It had been a particularly cold day in early January when it happened. It had just finished snowing and the ground was covered with an unusually thick layer of the powdery substance. It was deep enough that the little park in the vicinity of privet drive looked empty of life. Or it would had it not been for the trail of tiny red drops leading towards one of the benches and the hole in the snow within a few feet of the aforementioned bench.

If one were to look in the hole, they would find the still, cold, blood-covered form of a boy by the name of Harry Potter. This is what Harry was seeing too, as he floated just above his body. It had been only moments ago that he had woken up and panicked at where he was, being surrounded by snow and all. He had stood up and simply kept going, gracelessly rising into the air and turning upside down. After a moment he had regained control of his trajectory and looked down to see what had to be the biggest shock of his 12 year old life. Or rather his death. His body was just lying there on the ground below him as he hovered in the air. Blood stained the snow which sparkled calmly in the dying light of dusk, seeming so blissfully unaware of what was going on. Harry envied the snow.

The young dead boy slowly fell to the ground as he recalled the events of the previous day.  
It had been a day like any other. Well, a day like any other for a wizard living with magic hating muggles. This year, Dumbledore had sent him home from Hogwarts for Christmas in the hope that he would resolve his problems with his family, which the headmaster had gravely underestimated.

This of course had put a massive chip into Harry, Ron and Hermione's plans to infiltrate the Slytherin common room which they had planned to do during these very same holidays. They were fairly sure that Draco Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin and even if he wasn't he would probably know who was. But that would have to wait until the holidays ended. He just hoped that the Slytherin's monster wouldn't get anyone while he was gone, or when he got back for that matter.

When he had returned to the Dursleys, it had been fairly obvious that they hated him just as much, if not more than when he had left at the end of the summer. They were no doubt still annoyed with him for what dobby did with the Masons. The days had dragged by with more chores than he normally had and Christmas passed by with little event, but on the 27th of December everything went to hell in a hand basket.

The morning had been like any other and the afternoon was just as excruciatingly boring, but on that evening while the Dursleys settled down in front of the telly to watch some celebrity nonsense and as Harry cleaned up after their dinner (of which he got the scraps) Harry's scar began to sting and then burn. With a gasp the young wizard dropped the plate he had been carrying and fell to his knees.

As the pain grew Harry let out a scream that had the Dursleys running into the kitchen faster, having already been on their way when the plate broke. The scene that had greeted them had been that of the boy in their care writhing on the floor as blood poured from the now open wound on his forehead.

Vernon was not pleased. The brat had come to their house in the only time they were free of his freakishness and now proceeded to make a racket and break their plates!

Not. Acceptable.

So Harry's uncle ushered his wife and son upstairs, and when they were gone he turned to the now no longer in pain boy at his feet.

"Damn freak" he hissed as his face turns a rather hideous shade of purple, "you think you can just come here and break my things, you think you can just make a racket and get away with it. I'll show you that's not how it works here!" and he grabbed Harry by the collar of his oversized hand-me-down shirt, and pulled him to his feet.

Harry chose deliberately not to think about what had happened next, as the pain of the beating he got was just as bad as the burn from the curse mark and lasted for so much longer.

The-Boy-who-had-once-Lived vaguely remembered being pushed out onto the porch, bruised and bloodied, barely able to stand. He distantly recalled willing himself to escape, to find somewhere sort and safe, and he remembered pulling himself through the snow, and then the darkness had fallen in and there was nothing.

Now that he thought about it, he should have seen this coming. There was no way he would have survived living with his 'family'. It was just not possible when they were as 'normal' as they were and he was so 'freakish'. It would appear that some muggles didn't mix well with magic at all.

'_Never mind'_ he thought '_at least they can't hurt me anymore'_

With a shallow sigh he stood up, slowly this time, and was pleased to find he was not in any pain. As a matter of fact, he felt better than he ever had. He wasn't starving painfully and is bones seemed to have fixed themselves, he had concluded after checking himself over. Odd how he could feel his body when it was really lying a few feet away, and not where his hand was.

This led to him having a somewhat peculiar idea. Since it seemed he could still feel stuff and could still have an effect on things, he decided to try to move his dead form elsewhere, after all he definitely did not want the Dursleys to get anywhere near it or for somebody to stumble across it and have a fright.

Tentatively he walked over to the cold dead form and reached out to grab the arm, putting it out of his mind that this was his own cold dead arm he was about to touch.

What happened was just as much of a surprise to Harry as waking up dead. When his hand came into contact with the dead one there was a spark of energy, and his dead body before him began to slowly turn to nothing. Tiny pieces no bigger than grains of salt floated off from where the skin touched, and it spread. Harry stumbled back and watched in pure awe as his previous being faded away into nothing in a blink of the eye.

At this point Harry sat down. This was beginning to get out of hand.

He didn't know how long he sat there, trying to come to terms with what had happened, but when he was next aware of his surroundings the full moon was hanging in the dark sky above him and the world had taken on an eerie but beautiful quality of perfect silence. But soon the silence ended as a voice came to Harry, from both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Hello, young one" it said, soft and melodious. It sounded male but seemed ageless, as if it had seen the passage of time as a spectator and let it pass it by…

"I am the Man in the Moon"

Harry gaped upwards at the moon. The man in the moon. Once again Harry felt this to be the truth. But there was no man in the moon, right? It shouldn't be possible, the moon was a lump of rock in space, Harry knew that much at least. But no, the voice was telling the truth he could feel it, his magic told him that this was the truth.

Before he could reply the Man in the Moon continued. "I'm sorry to say you have died, Young One, but do not fear, it is not the end for you. I can only talk to you this once, so take heed. You have become the spirit of chaos, a soul that is given form and the control of the force of chaos. You will not die, you are already dead, and you will not age… you are immortal." There was a pause and Harry found himself in an internal battle of whether to be afraid, in shock or curious. Shock won and his jaw dropped even further than it already had. "Since you have been reborn, you will have a new name. You are now Harry Havoc the Spirit of Chaos." Said the Man in the Moon.

"Why me?" Harry called "Why do these things always happen to me?"

But the voice was gone and the night was once more silent.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for reading, and a special thank you to those who faved, followed, or reviewed!

I forgot to do this last time so I'll do it now: I do not own Harry Potter or Rise of the Guardians and I make no money from writing about them. I just love the characters so much I just have to write about them. ^.^

I'm truly sorry for the horribly slow update speed, but this term is unreasonably chaotic. It seems that I have no free time at all because of all the coursework and the Uni applications. Gah...  
I hope to be able to improve my update speed soon, as the storm is passing.

So when we left Harry he had just discovered he was dead and the new spirit of chaos.

Here we go again

oooooooooooo

For the rest of that evening, or rather night, Harry practiced floating. Now that he was relatively calm and was beginning to get used to being dead, he found that it was actually really fun to fly around without a broom. There was a certain freedom to it.

As he rose and fell in the air, Harry found himself relaxing and soon he was simply enjoying himself, ignoring the implications of the Boy-who-Lived dying. When he landed again he was in the tiny copse of woodland that was a few streets south of his house, near a small, iced over pond.

Once his bare feet touched the snow, he found himself wondering about the greater implications of being a spirit. It would seem that he could feel some things, but not others as the snow beneath his feet was cold, but not unpleasantly so as it should have been, were he alive. It was soft and calming, father than abrasively chilly.

The spirit of chaos…

That's what the Man in the Moon had said he was. He didn't think he felt any more chaotic than he had before he had died. There was the idle thrum of his magic coming from within him, and it felt rather odd to have no heartbeat or breath, but aside from that he felt much the same. Despite this fact, Harry found himself focusing on his magic and raising his hand towards the frozen pond.

Now, he felt something. His magic moved within his chest, unlike it ever had before, and his body tingled softly, like gentle pins and needles all over. And then he was in for another enormous shock. The ice on the water began to split apart silently. Pieces rose into the air, like ashes rising from a flame, and danced in the moonlight above the pond. In the crystalline, perfect stillness and silence, the solid matter was divided and released from its orderly constraint, filling the air with a glistening dust far finer than any snow.

As Harry watched in awe of what was happening, what he was doing, the dust began to move. At first in a delicate dance that seemed far too complex for words, and then into a small storm before him.

Chaos…

It was beautiful chaos as more of the ice and snow joined the swirling mass. Droplets of liquid water rose and frozen grass split off and joined in, twirling and spinning with no visible pattern. Just as the cloud of particles seemed to be reaching a point beyond control, they burst apart. Spreading into the open air, back into the pond and onto the surrounding trees and stopping their movement as they faded away into nonexistence.

Harry dropped his hand and felt his magic, his chaos, relax back into a calm mass around his heart. He could feel it now. The difference. He felt… free…

oooooooooo

After exploring the chaos for a little longer, Harry had discovered some truly interesting things. While he couldn't control the particles movement – _Yet_, he told himself determinedly – he could control the shapes and sizes of the pieces of ice. They could be big or small, smooth or sharp, and he had even been able to make some bits explode like tiny silver fireworks.

As the sun rose, it shone through the swirling balls of ice, lifting up the little clearing in magnificent display. _'Better than magic'_ Harry thought with a smile. And then another thought struck him. One that was thoroughly unwanted and put an immediate damper on his previous good mood.

'_What should I do about the Dursleys? And what will everyone say when they notice I'm dead' _

His mind racing a mile a minute, Harry took off from is clearing and headed back in the direction he had come in the first place. Reaching the park, he was surprised to see that there was no stain from his blood, despite his rather gruesome death _'if I do say so myself'_. At this he stopped and landed again. He had just sounded surprisingly like some of the ghosts he had heard at school, comparing the way they died. He was dead too now, so was he like a ghost? No he couldn't be, he was colourful and still had his magic and his chaos. So in the wizarding world, there must not be any spirits like him, right? Surely he would have heard of them from Hermione if there were.

Upon this realisation, a plan formed in his mind. A very clever plan in his opinion. All he had to do was nothing. Nothing at all.

He would go about his life as if nothing had happened. He would find a book that would tell him how to make glamours so it would look like he was aging and would read them while everyone else slept. It was perfect. No one would ever know he had died.

Of course there would need to be changes to the plan at a later date and he would need to go to Diagon Alley at some point to buy the books and anything else helpful, but surly he would be able to find a way to do that.

'_What should I do now?_' he asked himself as he gazed across the snow to where he could see his Aunt and Uncle's house. This was a difficult decision. He could go back to his Aunt and Uncle as if nothing had happened or he could simply leave. If he went back, he would have to spend time with some of the most despicable people he had ever met, but it would prevent there from being any problems in his story and he was sure Dumbledore would know if he left. Somehow. On the other hand if he left, he would be free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He didn't think he would need to eat or sleep and he was fairly sure the Man in the Moon had said he wouldn't die again, so both options were quite plausible.

In the end, Harry decided to err on the side of caution and began the walk back towards number 4.

oooooooooooo

When he reached the door, Harry became aware that his family were likely still asleep, and he had no idea how to get back into the house. Despite his best efforts he could not come up with a reasonable way around the problem. Of course, he could use his awesome new spirit powers, but that would probably be a little overkill and was bound to be a dead giveaway. So instead, he sat himself down on the doorstep and concentrated on trying to remove the blood from his cloths by dispersing it like he did the ice. After many failed attempts, resulting in more holes in his already tattered t-shirt, the little spirit was able to successfully remove the blood from the fabric.

This was what he was doing when he was interrupted by an angry looking petunia opening the door behind him.

"In" she hissed, her face contorted in disgust, "before the neighbors see you and think we're freaks too"

Harry had to repress his urge to try out his powers on her hair as he stepped around her and into the hall. Despite the fact that he had been a horrifying sight when he left, and now looked almost normal again in the space of a night, petunia did not seem to want to notice, and merely ushered him into the kitchen where he was guided to the hob.

"Make the bacon and don't you dare burn it, or your straight back outside." She declared primly, turning away to go and find one of her abhorrent gossip magazines. _'Maybe I could turn them to dust at some point. That could cause some chaos… or at least disorder.'_

"Yes, Aunt Petunia" he replied, setting about the task.

And so the day went by. As if nothing at all had changed. Of course his Uncle had expressed his displeasure at the fact that Harry was well again, but he didn't do much but yell in the end, clearly having calmed down at least a little.

By the evening, Harry had several plots to cause chaos in the Dursleys home, but he refrained from carrying them out, coming to the conclusion that he could do that when he left for Hogwarts. He wouldn't get to see the results, but he wouldn't be punished either. Instead, Harry planned to sneak out and go to Diagon Alley that night. Despite how things worked in the Muggle world, the wizarding world had a strange way of making sure shops were open at night as well, or so he had heard, and now he intended to test this theory, hopefully gaining something useful in the process.


End file.
